Strange You Never Knew
by wankyrage
Summary: Santana Lopez is a bartender and knew many girls, but no one like video game streamer Brittany S. Pierce. When the two meet and become roommates, they find change to be a confusing and necessary curse for each other. A Brittana fic / character study. Roommates AU. Slowburn romance. Rated M for language, (implied) sex, and alcohol use.
1. ONE

**Disclaimer: Santana Lopez and Brittany S. Pierce belong to Glee, along with other character cameos and mentions in the future. Any other characters/names you don't recognize are just made up.**

**A/N: this is largely based off of their character treatments in s2. it's going to be a will-they-won't-they thing majority of the time, so bear with me. in all probability, though, you can expect a happy ending from this. chapters will be shortish 95% of the time. starting the story off with a double chapter just to get the ball rollin'. enjoy!**

* * *

"So you play video games, and get paid?" Santana asked, her brows furrowed.

"Yeah," Brittany simply agreed.

Santana shook her head, taking in the mess of cardboard boxes stacked around the spare room. Well, Brittany Pierce's room, now, anyway. But did she really just help this stranger carry boxes from a pickup truck, and only now finding out she might have to kick her right out? "I don't get it," she gave up.

"Which part?"

"When you came to check the place a few weeks ago you said you worked with computers," Santana half-yelled, one arm flailing in exasperation. "I assumed you meant, like, at a store. Or some IT company. Or _something_."

They had met at a cafe down the street because Santana didn't trust online strangers enough to show them the apartment right away, duh. She needed to make sure Brittany S. Pierce wasn't a 40 year old balding man or something.

The blonde was confusing enough right off the bat. She had agreed to meet Santana at the cafe, but ended up ordering a smoked quiche instead because the smell of coffee reminded her of her past life or something. Santana was actually relieved at the sight of the blonde. She looked relatively close to her own age, even though she was admittedly a whole lot taller, and she seemed genuinely in need of the place. It didn't take long for Santana to agree to take her to the apartment and have a look-see.

"God, no," Brittany laughed. "I don't get computers, and they don't get me. I just like playing games on them. And people watch me, and when they're nice, they send me money." She ended with a shrug and a smile, as if that solved everything.

"Look, I was under the impression you had a regular job and that you would be able to pay your half of the rent, regularly," Santana couldn't believe it. _It was right there on her "Looking for a roommie, no uglies" post._

She knew she should have waited a bit longer for more people to hit her up about that, but compared to the guy who insisted she be okay with bi-weekly Bible meetings in the living room, and that one chick whose manner of greeting Santana was by complimenting her 'damn _titsaroos_', Brittany S. Pierce was the most… ordinary of the applicants.

Brittany huffed as she put down the last of the cardboard boxes down on the floor. "I see how this worries you, Santana Lopez," she began, ignoring the frustrated eye roll from the brunette. "But I'm kinda good at it, y'know. People like me, for whatever reason, and sometimes, most of the time, they donate to show their support. In fact, I'm a lot better at this than I would be at a corporate job, or whatever regular jobs are. This way, I don't need to deal with a boss, or people calling me incompetent, or _stupid_."

There was a slight waver in Brittany's gaze as she muttered that last word. Santana watched as the blonde plopped down on the mattress-less bed frame at the corner of the room.

The two had agreed for Brittany to move in right away. Santana quickly got tired of seeing weirdos trying to convince her they weren't satanists or heroin addicts or both, and aside from Brittany's occasional odd comments on things, she figured she could easily tolerate the blonde more than she would the other applicants.

"Well?" Brittany pressed. She looked up to meet Santana's eyes. "Do you want me to, like, move out?"

This was ridiculous. Any other day, Santana would have yelled back in affirmation, no question. Yes, even if this was a complete stranger she was dealing with. She'd done nastier things in the past, anyway.

But not today. She knew she really needed this break from her old dumb office job, making coffee that she wasn't allowed to drink, so that she could look for better jobs, because dammit, it'd been a year since she graduated with a business administration degree, and that hadn't landed her anywhere substantial, and she needed to rent out the spare room to sustain herself until something better happened, and also, _why were Brittany's eyes so damn big and blue_?

"I haven't exactly unpacked, anyway," Brittany added, her voice dragging Santana out of her trance.

Santana squinted a little, her eyes scanning the blonde head to toe. Off-the-shoulder top, fitted blue jeans (_like those blue eyes_), long blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail with her bangs out. "Well, I can't do that," Santana finally mumbled, resigned. Her eyes shifted from the blonde sitting in front of her, and then to the rest of the room. "Besides, your boxes were really heavy, and I'm too tired to help you bring them back down now."

The blonde clasped her hands together in almost childish joy. "Thank you so much! I promise I'll never go late on rent," Brittany beamed, skipping towards Santana with her arms outreached, ready for a hug.

Santana shook her head, taking visible steps away from the eager stranger. "I'm not—we're not—comfortable, enough, for that."

Brittany shrugged, her hands falling to her sides. "Well, yeah, for now," she conceded, her genuine smile still plastered on her face.

Santana's eyes narrowed, but decided it wasn't worth pursuing, well… for now. She tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and turned to leave. "Just, you're sure your game… thing, it pays?" she nagged, turning back around with one hand on the doorknob.

"Trust me," Brittany nodded earnestly. Santana forced a smile so she could suppress another of her eye rolls as the blonde added sweetly, "_Roomie_."


	2. TWO

As it turned out, life with Brittany S. Pierce was surprisingly… okay. Santana had spent the last six months or so living alone, and it never bothered her because of her new-ish job as a bartender. Loneliness wasn't a problem in that line of work, she realized. When you look like Santana Lopez and you're the bitch in charge of drinks, people tend to want to talk to you.

In Santana's case, most girls tend to talk, and then come home with her.

It had become a sort of habit, and before long, Santana had developed a system for that. The girls just sort of followed along, even the clueless ones. Meet and greet at the bar, stumble home half drunk, mindless sex, and then get the girl to leave, preferably before sunrise, and without waking her.

This was one of the first rules Santana had laid down when Brittany was finally settled in. The blonde was _not_ to talk to the other girls, even in the off chance that they were friendly, or offered her food.

"If they talk to you, they get to know you, they tend to feel entitled. They feel they can come back anytime, or that they get to know me through you," Santana explained sternly when Brittany asked her why. "We don't want that."

"Got it," Brittany nodded, tight-lipped, even though she didn't really quite get it.

Santana thought she looked like a first year undergrad student, or a new corporate hire, eager to lap up all the learnings and lessons she could. Most people wouldn't care, but Brittany was all up for her one night stand routine ever since the blonde had come out the bathroom half naked one time to an equally half naked girl coming out of Santana's room at dawn. The double scream had woken Santana up, and that was when she explained, after they made things awkward enough for the girl to leave voluntarily. To be honest, she couldn't help but find it a bit… _cute_. In retrospect, she could have given the blonde a heads up (_but miss that terrified half-naked scream? ha_.)

And it worked out for the best. Brittany's video game thing was a lot more interesting than Santana had initially thought. The blonde would leave her room around four or five in the morning, fresh from a _night_ stream, just in time for Santana to get her visitors out of the vicinity of their apartment. Brittany would watch, sometimes chat, as Santana gulped down hot coffee (and Brittany her hot chocolate, _yuck_) and retreated to her own room. Santana wouldn't come out for the rest of the day, during which Brittany would fit a nap in and then a _day_ stream after. By the time Santana had to leave for work later in the evening, Brittany was back in her own room for her second nap before the _night_ stream started all over again. To Santana, it was perfect.

"What's the difference between the night and day streams?" Santana once asked during their early morning coffee-chocolate encounters.

"Not much, mostly the type of people who come by," Brittany shrugged. "And most night streams, I talk with the viewers more than I seriously _play_ play."

Santana snorted. "You mean you talk to your _computer_," she shook her head, finding the idea of it all a little bit silly still. "Ever thought maybe you should just go out more? Talk to _actual_ people?"

"Like you with your bartending?" Brittany didn't say it mean or vindictive. She was genuinely curious, contemplating.

"I guess, yeah," Santana nodded, thinking. She supposed their… work, was somewhat similar. There was a certain position of power that came with their respective roles, Santana behind the bar and Brittany behind the webcam, and their roles did require some level of socializing that, eventually, benefited them some way. Of course, Brittany didn't have to do the sex thing with her viewers, so there was that. Besides, Santana would be rolling in bucks right now if her one night stands _paid_.

"So, um, do you not have off-days, or holidays?"

"That's the best part, I decide when my off-days and holidays are," Brittany grinned, stirring what's left of her hot chocolate. "Of course, I lose money when I actively choose not to stream, but most of my viewers are loyal anyway. That's why I try and stream as much as I can. Save the holidays for when it's really important, y'know. Plus, video games aren't normally the kind of thing you want to take breaks from."

"Okay, that's actually pretty fucking _rockstar_ of you, _Brittanerd_," Santana admitted, laughing. "I don't get paid leave at the bar either, but April couldn't fire me even if I ditched every other night or so. She knows I'm good for the biz."

"Brittanerd," Brittany repeated to herself, gulping down the last of her hot chocolate.

Santana watched the blonde and the frothy chocolate moustache she'd given herself. She never could figure out when she's crossed lines with this one. Brittany was filled to the brim with childlike qualities most times, but she was also prone to weird bouts of sad long faces that she seemed to think Santana or others didn't notice. Santana had actually taken note of this around the word '_stupid' _after the first several weeks, and had stopped using the word completely within Brittany's proximity. She figured it was the least she could do, having Brittany agree to being okay with her own… lifestyle.

Santana had to admit, even though Brittany was a whole head taller than her (_what was she, a model?_), the latina had slowly developed a vague but protective familiarity for her, precisely because she seemed so pure and innocent most times. Plus, Santana saw it as a bonus that the blonde wasn't like the other girls she usually interacted with. Brittany didn't throw herself at her, or asked her to pour herself a drink on her, or asked to get to know her a little better. She was always just Brittany: Santana's _roomie_.

Their living situation was perfect for Santana in spite of the physical closeness. There was barely any interaction most days, and so the few chats they do have, they felt organic. Brittany didn't do small talk like asking how she was or how her day went out of sheer politeness, but because she seemed genuinely interested to know, and because they hadn't seen each other since the last coffee-chocolate encounter. Santana soon found it surprisingly easy, talking to her. Things were just always matter-of-fact with Brittany. And despite the lack of loneliness on Santana's part, she valued the natural growth of her friendship with Brittany more than she'd like to admit, and was ready to preserve that.

"I like that," Brittany decided. Santana felt a hint of a smile curve its way onto her full lips as she watched the blonde silently mouth _Brittanerd_ to herself, licking chocolate off the top of her lip.


	3. THREE

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Brittany asked Santana. It was a Saturday noon and she was half-sprawled on the couch by the kitchen, one hand lazily scrolling on the mousepad of her laptop on the coffee table. This was the agreed upon living room, communal space, really, except that the two girls mostly spent their time in their own rooms. It didn't help that Santana didn't have a television to begin with.

The latina in question had just come out of the shower, one towel wrapped around her hair and the other around her body. "What?" she asked. Santana had planned to drop by the bar and ditch early, maybe cause some trouble elsewhere for the night before coming back with the usual random girl. "Aren't you streaming today?"

Brittany shrugged, sinking deeper into the couch. "My birthday's in a couple of days and I'm doing a 24 hours stream for that. Thought I'd take a little break before that went down."

"24 _hours_?" Santana gaped. "Playing video games?"

"Not the whole time, silly," Brittany laughed. "If I get tired I can spend an hour or so just chatting or something. Or have them watch me eat. Apparently, people are into that."

Santana scoffed, even though she was half intrigued at the mere thought. It had been a couple of months since the blonde had officially moved in, and so far, she had kept her promise. Whatever she was doing with her streaming thing, the girl was making bucks. "_Kinky_," Santana joked. "Y'know, you should let me watch your stream one of these days. I kinda want to see this rockstar side of you in action."

Brittany had been super secretive about her streaming activities since she'd moved in months ago. She told Santana just enough to assure the brunette that it wasn't a dirty sex thing during the first few weeks, and even let Santana sit and watch her set up her station in her room while her friend from college called out instructions from a Skype window on her laptop.

Santana thought it was ridiculous at first, that the blonde could do it in front of a thousand other people across the world and not want to stream if Santana was in her room. But then she realized she probably shared the same inhibitions about having Brittany at the bar if she was working. Something about being in the zone, and something about not wanting your roommate to see a particular side of you that you didn't present in the comforts of your home and your sleeping clothes. It was an unspoken mutual understanding that they were to stay out of each others' work lives.

The less their worlds interacted, the better. It was a justifiable logic that had gradually formed in Santana's mind, even though she had to admit Brittany's streaming thing was far more intriguing compared to her bartending.

"Then watch a movie with me," Brittany offered. She straightened up on the couch, crossing her arms. "Maybe after, I'll show you my channel." The blonde gave a not so subtle wink.

"Ooh," Santana played along, her eyes narrowing with a smirk forming on her lips. "Tempting offer, Pierce." She headed towards her room to put on her clothes and called out, "What movie is this anyway?"

"I don't know, _Lopez_, Netflix has a bunch," Brittany replied, her fake accent thick on Santana's last name. She eyed her laptop for a while, teeth unconsciously nibbling on her thumb. "What kind of stuff does Santana Lopez like, anyway?" Brittany scoured the list of categories on Netflix, scrolling up and down, her cursor going back and forth between Hidden Gems and Cartoons. _Don't say horror please don't say horror_.

Santana returned from her room, patting down her crop-top sweater. She checked her phone for the time (_didn't own a wall clock either_) and slipped it back in her sweatpants' pocket. It was almost four, which meant she was supposed to leave in a couple of hours for work. "Tell you what," Santana weighed her options. She supposed sitting down for a movie wouldn't be going against the logic. It wasn't work for either of them, and this was the first in a long while that she'd seen the blonde have time off-stream other than to make food or go out for groceries. "Let's see if you can find something that scares the _shit _out of me, and if I end up bored, I'll just, leave for work."

Brittany felt herself give a blank smile to the brunette (_why horror why_) as she grabbed her laptop from the coffee table. "There's this recent one my viewers have been telling me to check out," she muttered, typing in the search box. "It's supposed to be _really_ scary, though."

"You don't—you _won't_—get nightmares or anything?" She had said it hoping she could get out of the whole movie thing. The two hadn't exactly spent much _bonding _time together, and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to interact with the blonde in the absence of their usual coffee and chocolate. Their conversations in the mornings were okay because Brittany almost always looked half sleepy and so was she, and so she knew they were both in a rush to go back in their rooms anyway.

But a movie could be _two hours long_ and that seemed like way too long of a time to be spent with someone she'd gotten totally comfortable spending as little time with as possible.

"No," Brittany lied.

Santana had to suppress a snort when the blonde positively jumped at the first loud note of the movie's opening credits. She hurriedly tapped the spacebar to put it on pause, looking up at the brunette as if to check if she had seen any of that.

"Okay, fine," Santana gave in. "Now scoot."


	4. FOUR

"Congratulations," Santana deadpanned. "I'm now _deaf_."

She shifted slightly in her seat on the couch, Brittany's head still finding her shoulder, digging her face into her shoulder blade. The blonde had been screaming bloody murder in her ears in the past two hours, leaning into the shorter girl to cover her face from whatever paranormal entity was doing its thing on the laptop screen. Santana was honestly surprised no neighbors came pounding on their door asking them to shut the hell up.

The movie itself was actually pretty good. Between the gross decapitations and the cliche characters having pre-death sex, and the lovely faces of the evil entities literally falling off half the time, it checked Santana's list of what made American horror movies so American. Not that she knew exactly what that meant. _Fine, so it was a good movie and watching Brittany get petrified for a good ten seconds during an exorcism scene was kind of worth it._

"If you didn't like horror, why did you pick that to watch in the first place?" Santana asked, frowning at the blonde.

"You said you wanted something scary," Brittany mumbled from somewhere behind her shoulder.

Santana huffed, but couldn't quite suppress her smile, amused. She looked down at her hands, one of them, her left hand, red from all the grabbing and pinching Brittany had done throughout the movie's runtime. If she squinted hard enough, she could make out the faint nail marks on her palm, too. She'd tried shaking her off at first, when it wasn't all that scary yet, but she realized halfway through the movie that Brittany was slowly merging into her, using whatever she can of the latina's smaller body to cover her face or her ears. They had started the movie sitting quite comfortably apart from each other, and then Brittany was slowly forcing the laptop onto _her_ lap. By the time the movie ended, Santana was at the farthest edge of the couch with Brittany slouched up against her.

"I should go work," Santana finally said, getting up and placing the laptop back on the coffee table. She started towards her room. Brittany crumbled down on the couch behind her, her hands covering her face.

"Santana?" Brittany pleaded, her voice muffled through her palms. Just loud enough to get the brunette to turn back around.

Santana could make out those big blue eyes blinking up at her from the gaps in her fingers. "Yes, Brittany?"

"Please stay?" Brittany continued against Santana's exasperated sigh. The blonde sat up and brought her knees to her chest. "I can't stay here alone after _that_." She gave her own laptop a terrified glance, the screen paused on the end credits.

"Brittany, I gotta work," Santana explained. "It's just a movie. You can do this," her voice lingered on the last syllable. She wasn't actually sure if Brittany could. The girl was positively scared _shitless_ during the entire movie, and her ringing ears were testament to that. She knew the girl shouldn't have that much _control _over her, but those damn blue eyes have got to have voodoo powers or something. "Or… you _could_ come with me to work."

Brittany's eyes seemed to brighten at the idea. "I could do that, yeah," she agreed, nodding to herself.

Santana was about to smile in relief, but it struck her that it probably wouldn't be a good idea after all. It would honestly be weird to have Brittany around when she would be out there… doing her thing. It would be going against the unwritten rule of the two of them never seeing the other work. Besides, with a tall blonde like Brittany around, the other girls might not come after her like they would if it was just her. She shuddered even at the thought of possibly having to walk the blonde home, drunk. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled again so she didn't have to yell in frustration. "Or _fine_, fine, I guess I could just stay here. I'll text April."

"That's fine too, yes!" Brittany nodded excitedly, clapping her hands. Santana wondered how anyone could shift in between tones so easily. She rolled her eyes, watching the blonde slap her hand repeatedly on the empty space on the couch, gesturing for Santana to retake her seat next to her.

Santana followed suit, holding back her smile as Brittany wrapped her arms around her arm, squeezing. It wasn't technically a _hug_ hug, so it was fine. She wondered what she did to deserve this ball of sunshine wrapped up around her arm as her roommate, but she thought, things could be some levels worse. She figured Brittany didn't normally do this anyway because she was always so busy streaming, and most of the free time Santana had in the apartment, she spent with random girls. This was the blonde's break, and she guessed she didn't mind letting her enjoy it.

She fished for her phone out of her sweatpants and held it up for Brittany. "Since this is your doing, help me text my boss," she said, scrolling through her inbox for April's thread. It had been a while since she's had to text April about ditching the bar, she figured the woman wouldn't mind this once too.


	5. FIVE

Santana wiggled in her sleep, rubbing her face onto her sheets. She hummed sleepily, feeling the light beating of a heart against a ribcage, rhythmic against the side of her face. And then it hit her. She lifted away, replacing her face with her hand, and then she saw it. Brittany was seated where she had fallen asleep, the lower-half of her body basically hanging over the edge of the couch. Santana's hand was flat on the blonde's ribcage for an extra two seconds before she recoiled, alarmed.

"Good morning," Brittany smiled at her.

Santana got to her feet and took in their surroundings. They were still in the living room, and two pizza boxes sat open on the coffee table, next to Brittany's laptop. "I fell asleep," she gasped to herself.

She had fallen asleep _on_ _Brittany_.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked, running her hand through her flattened hair. Her voice was still hoarse from the wake up, and the pizza at midnight, and the two of them talking while some Disney cartoon was playing on the laptop, until… well, until she'd fallen asleep. On Brittany.

"You were kind of _on_ me, and I didn't want to move and wake you," Brittany explained. "I used to have a cat, so I was used to it. Plus, you looked so tired, and I felt kind of bad about being such a baby during the scary movie. I wanted you to rest."

Santana's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe it. "You could have woken me up," her voice stretched in frustration. "You said you were going to start your night stream after that last movie," she paused, taking out her phone to check the time. "And now you're late to your day stream!"

Brittany yawned and shook her head. "I think I might actually nap for a bit, before all that," she said, stretching her long legs out in front of her. She lifted a leg effortlessly and used her toe to close her laptop. A satisfied smile formed on her face as she watched the flustered latina. "All your sleeping's got me jealous."

"Wait, Brittany," Santana realized. She sat on the couch's armrest, the only space available with the blonde stretched out so comfortably like that. She couldn't believe it. "You haven't slept? All night?"

"I'm a restless sleeper, I didn't want to wake you," she shrugged. "My cat always hated when I did that. Fall asleep while he was asleep on me, I mean. Then he'd scratch me on my—"

"_Brittany, I'm not a cat_," Santana half-yelled, falling back to the other side of the couch. "You should've just woken me up."

Brittany looked at her for a bit, then looked down at her hands on her lap, the slightest pout forming on her lips. "I'm sorry."

_Was this girl for real?_ Santana brought a hand to her forehead, rubbing furiously. She knew she had no right to be mad, it wasn't the blonde's fault that she'd fallen asleep and couldn't pick a better spot on the couch than Brittany herself. And she hated that her stupidity had cost Brittany her sleep and stream time. She was always kind of cool and indifferent about the girl, letting her do her thing while she did hers, and so she didn't like that she had essentially forced the girl into a horror flick, probably terrified her for life, and then had the guts to fall asleep on her, all in the course of one night.

Santana felt guilty, and she didn't have much experience in that department.

"Look," she finally got up once again. "You should go to bed. Just, I don't know, tell me what time I should wake you up for your next stream. I'll stay here and, clean up." She gestured at the mess on the coffee table.

Brittany stretched her legs on the couch and slid onto her back. "Can I just sleep here?" Her blue eyes scanned the rest of the apartment and fell on her door. "I'm still, _sketched_, about sleeping alone in my room. And I don't have to stream again until midnight tonight, so you can just leave later. I'll wake myself."

Santana nodded. "Right, the big 24 hour birthday stream," she knelt down by the coffee table to stack the pizza boxes together. "Can I maybe get a peek of that stream?"

"If you can find my channel," Brittany challenged, her voice sounding heavier and heavier. She smiled into her arm propped under her head.

"Just go sleep, already," Santana shot back, half annoyed. She folded the two pizza boxes and jammed it in the bin in their kitchen. She'd bugged the blonde all night about showing her the damn channel, only to get shoved one Disney cartoon after the other. She looked at her now, lying lazy and drowsy on the couch.

"Don't go yet," Brittany pleaded after her, half yawning. She stretched across the couch until her body relaxed, legs outstretched and dangling over the couch's armrest.

Santana coughed as she gently hit the light switch, darkening the room. She didn't know how much more of those blue eyes she could take, asking her for this and that, and her just giving in, request after request. Maybe that was why she only felt most confident looking at other girls when it was dark out. Turning the brightness down a notch with the light switch in Brittany's case was just A for effort on her part.

"Such a _baby_," she muttered to herself. She wasn't sure if the blonde could still hear her. The past night had been so… loud, compared to the way they would usually spend their respective nights. Santana couldn't help but feel a tinge of longing for the blonde's giggles or goofy one-liners, (_hell, even that horror movie scream_) as she sat on the floor by the coffee table in silence, making sure the blonde was finally getting some sleep


	6. SIX

**A/N: decided it was time to introduce some insights into brittany's perspective. expect more brittany thoughts from here on out. enjoy!**

* * *

"Santana _god dang_ Lopez," she couldn't mistake that Southern drawl even if she was pretty damn drunk, or if the music at the bar had been a pitch louder than it already was.

Santana gave the pixie haired girl in front of her an apologetic smile and turned to face the other only blonde in her life right now with any sort of authority over her. "April," she grinned. "What brings _you_ here tonight?"

"Thought the house needed a lil' something something, after the text you pulled last night," April pulled out her phone from somewhere in her little corset top and held it out for Santana to see. She couldn't read everything, it was a pretty long text, and she knew because she'd had to wrestle the phone off Brittany after asking her to type out the text for April last night. The girl was surprisingly strong. "If I recall, you said you wouldn't be able to come today, either. Something 'bout a _birthday_ event."

"Aw, you know I couldn't do that to you, April," Santana smiled, faking a sympathetic pout.

It was true. As much as she was starting to like spending time aside from the usual coffee-chocolate sessions with Brittany, she needed to keep up her half of the rent. And that wasn't gonna happen if she kept ditching the bar. Besides, she'd made sure to wake up the blonde at home before leaving. She didn't want her to wake up alone, didn't know exactly why, but she'd take a speeding truck to the face before she let the girl know that.

"Who's this girl that's got you so wrapped, anyway, huh?" April smirked, nudging the latina endlessly with her elbow. Her voice had dropped to a just barely audible volume. "Mighty fine lookin', I'd think, getting you involved for birthdays and all."

Santana snorted, rolling her eyes at the older woman. "No one's got me wrapped, you know that," she replied. "But my roommate does have her birthday coming up, and I was kinda hoping you'd let me ditch early _tomorrow_ so I can get her something."

"No one's got you wrapped, you say," April smiled, feigning pride. "One of these days, Lopez, someone is gonna _change_ that and you'd be too damn proud to see it for yourself. Then you'll find yourself on the other side of the bar talking girl problems with your favorite blondie."

Santana rolled her eyes. "You know I get a swig or two regardless of which side of the bar I'm on," she smirked. "But you love me and my crowd-pleasing personality too much to fire me for that, so."

April wagged her finger in mocking warning as she walked away. "I'm just saying, honey, not everyone can run solo like April Rhodes," she called back over the music. "Make sure that Puckerman boy comes in for his shift tomorrow before you get all birthday bashful with your roommate, would you? Mama misses that ass."

**...**

"Alright, you guys, no fighting in chat," Brittany warned, giving the webcam a mocking stern look as she quickly shifted focus back to the screen where her game was on, giving her mouse a quick shake to get back into the zone. Quick enough reaction to shoot a player trying to melee her from her right.

She smiled as the comments kept coming. The fighting was usually worse at night. People liked to argue about what games they wanted her to play or check out, and then there were the ones posting swear words in languages she didn't understand. And then there were the ones calling her _stupid_, but her moderators were good enough at this point to make sure they got those deleted and blocked from the stream before she could see.

Santana had left almost immediately after she'd woken her up, hours ago. She couldn't help but smile, realizing the brunette had kept her word. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have slept on the couch. Her stiff neck was proof of that. But images from the horror movie last night still haunted her every time she closed her eyes, even despite the three or so Disney movies the two had watched after.

"I think you're great too, _blondes_arent_dumb84_," Brittany read, glancing furtively back and forth between the screen where her game was, and the screen where her chat was. A level 4 soldier was flanking her right, but the poor guy wasn't fast enough. "Oh, and thank you for the fifty—"

Her blood felt like it had frozen inside of her.

There was a noise outside her room. It was a muffled thud because of her noise-blocking headset, but she was sure she had heard it. Months after moving in with Santana, she had slowly developed a heightened sense of hearing, especially when it came to streaming time. She didn't want Santana walking in on her in streamer mode. Things could get pretty intense in games sometimes, and she wasn't sure she was ready for Santana to be making jokes about that.

"Be right back, you guys," Brittany spoke quickly, leaning into her desk mic, quiet as a mouse. "I hope I don't die," she muttered, more to herself than to her stream.

She lifted her wireless headset off her ears and let them fall, snug on her collarbones. She looked at the door for two seconds and took a deep breath. She'd played enough survival games to know. Footsteps. Multiple.

She opened the door, a crack, the tiniest, and peered, her blood pounding in her ears. _This is why you don't watch scary movies, Brittany, this is why this is why this is why_.

Brittany's eyes widened as she realized what it was she had heard.

Santana had come home, drunk, with a girl. And normally, Brittany wouldn't care, but she was genuinely terrified for ten seconds back there and Santana's cheeks (_or what she could barely see from where she was, anyway_) were flushed. And this girl, the girl with pixie hair was giggling into her mouth, arms wrapped around the latina's waist, pulling her into the direction of… _Brittany's_ room?

Santana looked too drunk, too giggly, to notice.

Brittany glanced wildly, panicked, between her door and her computer station behind her, where her stream was on, where people would be able to see whatever came into view of her webcam.

She knew this was breaking the rules, but she had no choice, really. Normally, Brittany wouldn't care. But she wasn't about to let a thousand people get a free dirty show of her roommate, and spending the previous night watching movies with Santana had gotten them a lot closer than Brittany had expected. She was admittedly excited about getting to know the sarcastic girl who seemed to switch seamlessly between bitchy and nice.

It was nothing incriminating, her thoughts. She was intrigued by her tough roommate; the girl who didn't flinch throughout a horribly traumatizing movie; the girl who ate pizzas by the crust first because the tip was the best part and she wanted to save the best for last; the girl who had fallen asleep, snuggled against her; the girl she had stayed up for because for once, Brittany saw how soft and gentle those features could look, and she didn't want to ruin that. It was that simple.

She knew someone like Santana was probably the last person in the world who needed protection from someone like Brittany, and yet she couldn't help but feel the need to make sure the brunette was comfortable and calm. There was just something in the way she smiled in her sleep. So out of character, and yet it fit her so.

The two drunks were so close to her door now. Brittany considered for a moment, just out of curiosity and pure devilish mischief, the amount of money she could earn if her viewers got in on the girl-on-girl action she was about to face. It was a fleeting thought, though. She couldn't do that to Santana (_she'd probably murder her for it, honestly_) and so she made the call.

With one swift motion, she swung the door open just wide enough to take a definitive step out and swing it back to a close behind her.

Santana seemed to catch the blonde standing there, from the corner of her eye, what little gap her face had to look at anything with the other girl's face so pressed against hers. "Brittany?"

"Hi," Brittany half smiled, standing awkwardly as the other girl slowly drew away from Santana. Between Santana's shock and blush, and the girl looking her head to toe, judging her, she didn't know where to look.

"Is that your—" the other girl began.

"No," Santana shook her head fast. "Let's just, let's go back to what you were saying," she said, bringing back her smile and turning her attention back to the girl. She pulled the girl, by her waist, to her own room.

Brittany watched them leave, her eyes glued to Santana's hands, hungry and groping at the girl's hips. She wished she'd kept her headset on, just so she could tune out the giggling. She bit her lip as she looked up just in time to see the latina mouth the words '_I'm sorry_' to her. And then the door was closed.


	7. SEVEN

"Okay, chat, I'll just go make something to eat," Brittany winked at her webcam as hearts and all manners of gifs were popping up in her chat. "Officially six hours in! No fighting," she reminded cheerfully before getting up and out of her room.

She'd barely closed her own door when Santana's door clicked open. It was the pixie haired girl from last night, her makeup faded and a side of her hair sticking out at an odd angle.

Brittany took a deep breath as she ignored the smile-wave the girl gave her, and made her way to the kitchen.

"Hi," the girl spoke anyway, approaching Brittany. "I was just… wondering, if you were Santana's—"

"I'm not," Brittany replied shortly. She opened the fridge, her eyes scanning the half-empty shelves. Something about the sight of Santana's beer stash on the bottom shelf irked her. She didn't know why, because Santana rarely drank at home. She supposed it was the smell of beer lingering in the apartment. It had been months since her first ever visit, but the smell of beer was admittedly something she was taking some time getting used to. Plus, it only reminded her of what she saw last night. Brittany huffed as she took out a carton of chocolate milk and turned to get a glass from the top drawer, kicking the fridge door to close it. She sighed when she saw that the girl was still there. "I'm not Santana's _anything_, and I'm not supposed to talk to you," she added, pouring herself a glass of milk. "You should leave, y'know, before she wakes up."

"Oh, I think it'll be awhile before she gets up," the girl replied, smiling almost to herself. "She was up all night, after all."

Brittany took a sip from her glass and shrugged. She knew what the girl meant, of course. She had to readjust her mic settings last night because she was scared the loud wailing from the other side of the wall would infiltrate her stream. She knew Santana's voice enough to be sure that it wasn't her, but having a stranger wail into your stream wasn't preferable either. "I really, don't know what to _do_, with that information," she finally said.

"I'll go," the pixie haired girl finally said. _Why did she look so proud of herself, anyway? _"Maybe I'll see you again soon. Brittany, right?"

"Um, don't bet on it," Brittany mumbled. She watched the door close, thankful the girl probably didn't hear her right. _So that's why I'm not supposed to talk to them_. She didn't think she'd feel so irritated, but something about talking to that girl made her feel so… wrong.

For some reason, Brittany couldn't help but stare at the spots on the girl that she'd watched Santana touch last night. Her hips, her back, her face. Even after the door had closed after her, Brittany's mind reeled back to the two drunken girls, giggling in between kisses, almost walking into _her_ room. She realized now the difference between seeing Santana the morning after, when she would be sober and sleepy, and seeing Santana in action, giggly and confident and drunk shitless. They seemed like two different people, and Brittany really only ever got the chance to speak to the first version of her roommate.

It took the latina in question to speak out for Brittany to shake those thoughts off her mind.

"Brittany," Santana repeated. She was at the kitchen now, just feet away from the blonde. Her dark brown hair was messy, and traces of her makeup from last night still remained. It took a minute for Brittany to realize Santana was wearing a tee and no pants. "You okay?"

"Santana," Brittany breathed, taking her glass of milk straight to her lips. "I didn't see you wake."

Santana glanced at the door where the pixie haired girl had just left. "Heard you two talking," she shrugged.

"I'm sorry," Brittany began. "I know I'm not supposed to." She made to leave the kitchen, glass of milk in hand. She didn't know exactly what it was, just that she didn't want to look the brunette in the eyes yet, scared her thoughts would show.

Santana put her hand on the blonde's arm, stopping her. "I'm sorry, about last night," she meant it. "She was… a talker, kept asking me about _you_."

Brittany forced a couple blinks. She remembered, again, the sounds coming from Santana's room last night. "No, you're good," she shook her head. "I was just, still jumpy, from the scary movie. Heard you guys coming in, I forgot you were coming from work." _And forgot about your one night stand routine_. "I didn't—tell her _anything_, by the way. About you."

Santana smiled. "Thanks, Brittanerd," she gave the blonde a light squeeze on the arm before loosening her light grip. It was too much interaction for so early in the morning anyway. "I'll try and keep them away from you next time."

"You don't have to," Brittany replied quickly. "It's your life, and your place."

Santana let go of her elbow. "I know, I just—I'm sorry we scared you, last night."

"I'll, um, get back to my stream," the blonde waved. Screw making something to eat. She wondered what she looked like, looking blank in the kitchen like that. Did she want to stay and talk longer? Probably. But she was scared the latina would catch on to the things going on in her mind, and she still really had 18 hours of a livestream left to focus on. "See you tonight?"

The brunette nodded. Brittany couldn't help but feel she was being judged, those brown eyes studying her face. Scrutinizing. She started to walk away, back towards her room.

"Roommate," she heard Santana say as she opened her door. "You can say you're my roommate—or _friend_—whatever. Next time, I mean."


	8. EIGHT

The butchered cake box sat in front of Santana, taunting and mocking. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her fingers tapping mindlessly to a tune that didn't exist. She was sitting in their living room, on the floor, her head resting back on the couch behind her. The world swam a little before her, but it wasn't a new view. The world never stayed still for Santana at night, and that was okay. It made making bad decisions that much easier.

But something else was making her nervous at the moment. Well, some_one_ else, at least.

Her brown eyes glanced furtively back and forth from the creamy mess in front of her to the closed door leading to Brittany's room. She picked up her phone from the coffee table and checked the time. It was three minutes to midnight, which meant Brittany's big 24 hour stream was finally approaching its end. Santana realized this was why she didn't like throwing surprises for people. Things took too long, and what was she supposed to do if she got bored from all the waiting?

Santana had had to plead April to let her get off early with Puckerman again a no-show for his shift tonight. She also had to essentially wrestle a black-haired girl off her arm because she had almost forgotten about her plans for the night and had been hitting on the poor woman all night, until she realized she couldn't take her home. Not tonight, anyway.

Santana liked to think she lived simply off of a few basic rules. If a night seemed like it had no girl or mindless sex in view, the solution was simple: compensate with alcohol. Between having drunk sex and simply being drunk, Santana had lost the difference a long while back.

So she had stumbled home, pavement to pavement, a box of cake teetering dangerously in her arms, until her dumbass had tripped on her own boots and she fell face first onto concrete, the cake box half-crushed under her weight.

She had wanted to surprise the blonde. A sort of make up, apology… _thing_, for what had happened the night before. And the morning after. It was weird, after all, not to mention awkward, to put Brittany in that position. It was even more awkward than for Santana herself. She never thought of hiding her roommate from her one night stands as more than mere precaution. An added defense against clingy calls and awkward goodbyes. It didn't and never occurred to her how weird it must have been for Brittany. After all, the blonde had done a good job of keeping _her_ word regarding rule number two: don't bring visitors to the apartment.

It was silly, that Santana felt bad about the intentional double standards. She had every right, of course. It was _her_ apartment, and Brittany was just living in it. She hated that she was slowly humanizing her roommate. She realized, too, the gradual shift in the way she was referring to Brittany… less and less as her _roommate_ and more as, well, Brittany. It was all the dumb interactions they'd had to do in the past week. It had to be.

Everything was good and normal when the routine went flawlessly. Santana the drunk bartender bitchslut, and Brittany the homebody video game streamer thing.

The more their worlds bumped into each other, the more she learned and thought about Brittany. It was no good.

It's not that any of the things that happened in the past few days _meant _anything. It was more the fact that they had finally spent time together, bonding as roommates, and Santana didn't _hate _it. It was a rarity. Santana hated most things, most people, because it was easy to hate. If you looked close enough, if you thought long enough, about something, or somebody, you could easily come up with a top ten list of why you hated them. It didn't happen with Brittany, though. She had to wonder the blonde felt the same way.

She had to wonder if that was why she felt so bad about springing that random girl on Brittany the other night. She shouldn't have to feel bad. The blonde was right, it was _her _life and _her _place. She just couldn't help thinking like it did damage on the time they spent watching those movies, like getting the girl in their apartment had somehow wedged in even more distance between her and Brittany.

"_Ohmygod_," Brittany's voice was loud and strangled in the living room. "Santana, your _face_."

Santana felt her head wiggle as she looked up, shaking the thoughts off her damn mind. The world seemed to tilt. "It's just a busted lip," she assured the blonde after registering the sight of her, standing feet away from where she was sat. To be honest, the lip kind of hurt, and she could still taste the faint blood on the crack of her bottom lip. She shook her head and gave Brittany a reassuring smile. She'd had worse, anyway.

"Did you _fight_ somebody?" Brittany moved fast. One moment she was standing by her door, and the next she was knelt in front of Santana, her thumb on the brunette's chin, tilting her face up, blue eyes gazing down at her lips. So serious, so concerned.

Santana felt dizzy.

She always valued her personal space. She didn't like people getting too close, because for what? It was fine with the bar because of the crappy lighting and the alcoholic influence, but Brittany's eyes looked strikingly bluer and brighter than usual and this was closer than Santana had ever wanted to be with her roommate. Plus, a busted lip isn't exactly the nicest thing to look at.

"I _fell_, actually," Santana smiled, gently grabbing Brittany by the wrist. She shifted backwards, widening as much space as possible between the two of them. "You think _this_ is bad, you should see your cake."

Brittany followed Santana's gaze onto the damaged cake box sitting in front of them. There was a light gasp from the blonde as she gently opened the beat up flap of the box, revealing a half smashed in creamy cake plopped pathetically in the corner of the box.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Santana added, guilty.

"Thank you," Brittany half-whispered, half-smiled. Santana couldn't properly see the blonde's face, but if she could, she would have seen how amazed and happy her roommate looked. The blonde turned back around to face Santana, an excited grin on her face. "Thank you thank you thank you!"

Brittany smelled nice. That was all Santana could think of, with the blonde's arms wrapped around her, her own face pressed against the taller girl's shoulder.

"You didn't have to get me a cake," Brittany said, letting go of the latina.

"I know," Santana shrugged, even though she _didn't_ know. Wasn't that something people did to be nice? She felt her muscles tense up.

Why did she get the cake, again?

She wanted to be nice.

Navigating the streets was hard enough to do drunk and alone, but the thought that she had gone out of her way knocking on the glass windows of cakeries and bakeries along the way, pointing dumbly at this and that cake on displays, possibly irritating half-asleep employees ready to close up shop, made Santana hate herself even more. _I didn't have to get a damn cake. _Why _did I get a damn cake? What does the cake have to do with making it up to her about the girl from last night?_

"It's actually really good," Brittany remarked expertly. She had dug into the cake with her hand, coating her fingers with light colored cream. She sucked on her index finger, getting the cream off.

"I'm glad you were able to see past the botched exterior of your birthday cake," Santana joked. She looked on as the blonde scooped out another chunk of creamy mess with her bare hand. "How was your big stream?"

Brittany stuffed the chunk of cake in her mouth, grinning. "It was great," she mumbled, still chewing. "I told them about the movies we watched. Won some games, lost some, earned some dollars and pesos and rupees. Here," she held out her hand to Santana, a piece of cake pinched in between her fingers.

"I'm—fine," Santana scoffed, backing away. She shook her head as Brittany shrugged, putting the cake in her mouth, sploshing a little cloud of cream on the corner of her mouth. _How did she end up like this, sat drunk on a floor watching her strange roommate eat an ugly cake without a fork or a knife?_ "You're such a kid."

"A battered cake's still a cake," Brittany replied indignantly. "And I'm _starving_. Chat got a bit intense towards the end, they kept throwing challenges at me, so I had to play to win. Like, no breaks. I should probably pee now, too."

Santana sighed as she heaved herself off the floor. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, her eyes falling on her long-kept stash of beer cans and bottles lining the bottom shelf. "Tell you what," she said, stashing the cold drinks in her arms and walking back to the living room. She bent over to let the cans and bottles roll carelessly onto the coffee table. "I'm gonna go get some wings delivered while you finish your pre-meal dessert."

"Why did you take out your beer stash?" Brittany frowned.

"Because, _Brittanerd_," Santana began as she sat back on the floor next to Brittany, scrolling fast through her phone's contacts. "A rockstar like you needs a rockstar birthday night."


	9. NINE

"Bullshit," Santana yelled, her hand covering her mouth as she laughed, rocking her head back and instantly regretting it. What do you get when you're drunk and then decide to get drunker? Santana Lopez half-sprawled on a living room floor, apparently. "_No_ way you're an MIT dropout."

Brittany laughed, putting down her half full bottle on the coffee table behind her. "Um, _yes_ way. Why do you think I'm living here with you instead of my parents' basement where I used to?"

The two were sitting across from each other, separated only by a now empty bucket of the city's spiciest wings.

"Oh my god," Santana cackled in between words. "Your parents kicked you out for dropping out of fucking _MIT_?"

Brittany snorted. The two were way drunk into the night, and she never imagined this particular topic about her life as something to really laugh about, but she figured being drunk for the first time since her college party days with a stranger roommate she didn't think she could get along with was enough reason to poke fun at the direction her life had taken.

"That's so fucked up. I'm sorry," Santana added more seriously.

"Rockstar life, right?" Brittany shrugged, grinning. "Anyways, I would've moved out even if they didn't kick me out. They've always been supportive of my choices, I guess they just didn't expect I would give up so easily at MIT, after everything. Took some explaining, and eventually my dad was the one begging me not to leave. We're good, though."

Santana brought her legs closer to her chest and rested her chin on her knee. She studied the blonde's face curiously, eyes squinting to stabilize her spinning vision. She imagined what Brittany's parents looked like, if they missed her, if they watched her livestreams. "You know, even as a dropout, having MIT in your resume could like, take you places," she mumbled.

"I tried it," Brittany smiled, nodding. "Working corporate. IT, for a bit. It's kind of a bitch being a smart young blonde in a man's world, though. I couldn't handle the constant workplace harassment, and I was never happy doing that stuff, anyway."

Santana looked at the blonde, the way her long face seemed pinker under the influence. She tried imagining what one Brittany S. Pierce must have looked like, walking around a corporate environment, ugly men gawking at her, probably saying inappropriate and condescending things left and right. Now she thought about it, it was probably the reason for her coffee aversion. She dared herself to poke the blonde in the nose. "The world will never know the blonde genius they missed out on. And now you're a rockstar doing video games for a living. How fucking crazy is that?"

The blonde merely smiled back in response. It _was _pretty crazy.

It was almost four in the morning. The two had sat sprawled on the living room floor, talking and bursting in laughter over stories of their past. It was the longest time in a year or so that Santana had been drunk and not having sex at the same time, but for whatever dumb reason, she didn't mind.

She would have preferred having Brittany drunker than she was, just because the blonde had a funnier, straightforward way of saying things under the influence, but she couldn't help but think Brittany probably had a higher alcohol tolerance level than she did. The two had downed all of Santana's beer stash and had spent a difficult fifteen minutes navigating the streets to a convenience store to get more, stumbling back into the apartment with a fresh batch of beer and a bottle of $8 wine, courtesy of Brittany's birthday request. And yet it was amazing how controlled and steady Brittany still looked. Santana's world hadn't stopped spinning since their last bottle.

"So, any regrets?" Santana asked, running her finger mindlessly along the rim of her beer bottle.

"Like, in general?" Brittany asked. She was lying flat on the floor, an empty beer bottle pressed against her right eye like a little telescope.

"Like, about dropping out," Santana clarified. "Just curious, because I thought I wanted to drop out of business school too. Just never had the guts to do it. My dad would've killed me."

Brittany hummed in thought, shifting the bottle from her right to her left eye, then to her lips, before she realized it was empty. "Probably the college parties," she finally stated.

Santana grunted as she used her can opener keychain to pop a new bottle before sliding it over to Brittany. "Do MIT nerds get wild?" she asked. "Kegs and beer pong and stuff?"

Brittany laughed at the thought. "Ever seen a beer pong match where the players actively and verbally calculated initial velocities and projectile motion before every move?" She got up to face Santana, cross-legged. She put the new bottle in her mouth and full-tilted backwards, almost choking from the sudden giggle in her throat. "Our parties lasted four straight nights sometimes because no one ever wins those."

Santana looked at the pile of empty bottles and cans between them. "So I guess spin the bottle gets a bit wild too, huh?"

Brittany shook her head wildly. "You have no idea," she simply said.

"Ever used your _genius_ brains to rig the spin?" Santana asked, smirking. It was a harmless question.

"If I tell you that, you'll never play with me," Brittany replied, a teasing smirk forming on her lips. Harmless? Undecided.

"Then show me," Santana shot back. _Not so harmless, now_. She held out her own empty bottle to Brittany, wiggling it in front of her face mockingly.

"You _do_ know we need a circle of people for that?"

Santana shook her head. In one swift motion she swept her arm across the mess of empty bottles in front of her, leaving a blank space in between the two of them. She held up a finger signaling Brittany to wait while her other hand began meticulously lining unopened bottles around the space, slowly forming a little circle where they were the only people involved aside from the bottles. "Spin the bottle meets drinking roulette," she proudly announced. She offered her empty bottle again to Brittany. "_Rig it or drink it_."

"This is ridiculous," Brittany scoffed, but took the challenge anyway, snatching the bottle off Santana's hand and lying it down at the center of their circle, her finger perched on the label to keep the bottle from rolling away.

Santana watched as the blonde silently peered at the little curved row of bottles standing on either side of them. It took a whole ten seconds before it dawned on her dumb, drunk self. _Rig it or drink it._ What was she asking her exactly? What were they going to do if Brittany succeeded? "Pick a bottle," she finally added, her eyes fixed on Brittany's hand at the center of the circle.

Brittany looked up at her, her hand still on the bottle, tilting it this way and that. Even with the world refusing to sit still, Santana could still find focus in the blue eyes staring directly at her. "This one, then," the blonde smiled. She tapped the cap of a bottle sitting to Santana's right.

And then the bottle started spinning.

This was stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Santana should have known. Being drunk always led to bad decisions for her, and did it really have to go this far for her to learn her lesson?

So fucking stupid.

She'd played this game a million times before, but she never noticed how watching that lone bottle in the middle spin like that could make her heart beat so fast.

Stupid.

She could have asked for a beer pong demonstration instead.

Stupid, stupid.

How long did her bottles usually spin? How hard did Brittany spin _this _one?

The label on the empty bottle was a blur of color now.

So stupid.

Was there no stop button on this thing?

Wow. Stupid.

Santana found her hand stopping the bottle.

Really, really stupid.

It was pointed at the bottle sitting right next to Brittany.

_New_ levels of stupid.

"Okay, that's not how you play this."

Brittany's voice.

So damn stupid.

"I know," Santana took the bottle out of the circle.

Peak stupidity.

"Just—kiss me, Brittany."


	10. TEN

**A/N: if you've been reading this far, i hope you've been enjoying these two dummies c: ty too for those leaving reviews! good to know the ship is alive and well. enjoy! **

* * *

In an ideal world, in Santana's usual world, she would wake alone in bed. The tangle of sheets and blanket next to her would mean her one night stand had left in the wee hours of the morning, never to be seen again.

In Santana's usual routine, she would wake up, and the night before wouldn't be a big deal. They never were, and that was never an issue.

So why was there a girl in her bed at ten in the morning right now?

It took a moment.

"Brittany?" Santana finally asked, eyes widening. She propped her head on her elbow, both to get a better look at the blonde, and to establish some necessary space.

Brittany smiled back at her, her pale face pink around her cheeks and her long nose. She wondered how long the blonde had been awake, and how many times this week she was going to find her dumb self waking up to her like this.

"We, um. We were drunk," Santana stated, looking down at her blanket, draped over her body. When was the last time she had felt so relieved to realize she was still fully dressed after a drunken night? "Pretty drunk, huh?"

The night before began to come back to Santana in a blur. She couldn't remember exactly what they did when she dragged Brittany to her room, but the thought of their lips meshed together, their tongues craving each other, and Brittany's hands on the sides of her face, and Brittany getting on top of her, and Brittany, _drunk…_

If she was being honest with herself, she loved it. Santana lied about a lot of things in her life, but she knew that if she had seen Brittany at her bar the first time instead of a cafe that she was probably going to hit on her and get her to come home with her. There was no denying the girl was attractive, and Santana had probably been attracted from their first conversation. But it was a no-go mission from day one, she knew. Brittany may be the MIT genius but Santana sure wasn't dumb enough to try and find out what happened if she slept with a girl she was already living with. It was a complication she couldn't deal with.

"We didn't—" Santana shook her head fervently, her hair falling into her face, a good cover. The thought of it seemed too much, she couldn't finish her own sentence. Brittany was the one girl she couldn't go for, exactly because of their roommate situation, and the idea that she'd violated her own rule last night was incredibly stupid on its own. Her head ached at the mere thought.

"No," Brittany assured her. She had her hand over the blanket, on Santana's waist. They had fallen asleep like that, except so much closer. "We didn't. We just—fell asleep, after."

"Good." Santana sighed. It was better that way, harmless. It was just stupid, drunken fun after all. She turned to look at the blonde, offering a smile.

"Nice to finally get to see your room," Brittany said, smiling. Santana hated how comfortable she looked in her bed. This was why she always preferred them leaving before she woke up. "Maybe you can give me a tour of that today, instead of your mouth."

It was a joke, Santana knew. But all it did was remind her of images from the night before. Brittany had hesitated to kiss her, she saw that. She was terrified for a moment in the living room because, for a moment, it seemed that time had stopped. Santana thought the look on Brittany's face was similar to when she was doing her calculations for spin-the-bottle. She was also too drunk to see the freckles on the blonde's face, or take in how blushed Brittany looked when drunk. All she knew was her lips on hers when she least expected it. When she thought that Brittany didn't want to kiss her.

Santana was used to girls telling her hours after their first words to each other that they had wanted to kiss her the moment they saw her. It was the same level of flattery she spewed herself to get them to come home with her. In a way, it was her _game_, and they were all just players in it.

Brittany, though, worried for her busted lip. Santana had felt the blonde's tongue run across her lip, the little crack of dried blood from hours before, and then Brittany was asking if it hurt, and all she thought at the time was _it would hurt less if you kissed me longer_.

But she couldn't say that. She could have said a hundred variations of it to other girls, to the ones from the bar, but not Brittany. Not her roommate. She didn't know why, didn't understand. All she knew was that kissing Brittany was crossing a line when all she wanted was a view. And crossing lines was surprisingly easy when both parties were drunk, she knew that now. Should have known.

"You should, um, go back to your room," Santana decided.

It was a slight movement, the tiniest. Brittany's hand lifted off her body, and then she was off her bed, heading towards the door.

Santana watched after her, the physical distance visibly growing. Something about it made her feel childishly sad, like she'd done something wrong, and she was being reprimanded for it.

Had she done something wrong?

She wasn't sure. As far as she was concerned, not dwelling on the night before was the best way to handle the situation. It was standard procedure, and it was never a big deal with the other girls, anyway.

Except Brittany wasn't other girls, was she? She was her roommate, and _dammit_, Santana had to admit the blonde was growing on her after all. Last night was the most fun she's had, and the fact that it didn't involve mindless sex was totally foreign to her. How was that even possible?

"Hey, Santana?" Brittany was at the door, looking at her.

"Yeah, Britt?" she called out, half her face buried in her pillow.

"I don't think you're like, a mean drunk or anything, you're actually very sweet sometimes," Santana gulped at that word. _Sweet_. It was such a Brittany thing to do, associating someone like Santana with a word like that. She looked up from her pillow, dark brown eyes meeting bright blue, her lazy smile fading when she realized the blonde wasn't grinning her usual goofy smile back. "But I feel like you maybe make selfish choices when you drink."

The door shut close. Santana cursed through her breath as she mentally counted the steps it would take the blonde to reach her own room. She let out something between a groan and an exhale as she heard a second door open and close, her face falling back to meet the soft and cool of her pillow.

Was it the way Brittany had said it, soft and serious like that, or the way her blue eyes seemed… _bluer_ when Santana had looked at her? A dull weight seemed to build in her chest, and her thoughts felt mixed and kicked about as she realized her sheets still smelled like beer and Brittany.

Suddenly, it was that much harder to breathe.


	11. ELEVEN

Brittany never liked being upset. It got in the way of her thinking clearly, and what excuse was there for not thinking clearly if she wasn't even drunk anymore? She hadn't meant to say it like that. What was that—_you maybe make selfish choices when you drink?_ Who was that?

She didn't even understand why she felt so upset or bothered in the first place. She had thought about it, the night before, before she silently decided to kiss Santana. She figured it was probably how Santana got her girls to come home with her back at the bar, too. She knew that, and it wasn't like she was expecting special treatment, being the roommate and all.

Except Santana _did _give her the special treatment.

She didn't sleep with her, for one. At least, not in the way that she seemed to sleep with everyone else. And it was fine, really. She liked just kissing the brunette, liked the way her lips felt and tasted against hers. It was why Brittany never complained that they didn't spend much time together aside from mornings. How do you apologize to your roommate for being caught staring at her lips? Santana always complained and joked about the other roommate applicants, the creeps who stared and the weirdos whose touches lingered a little too long. She didn't want to be one of those guys, but Santana Lopez was an undeniably _hot _woman and the only thing truly stopping Brittany from making any moves was the fact that she could probably get kicked out right away. That, and the idea that in all probability, Santana didn't like her back. Why would she? They lived very different lives, found joy in very different things. If she had met Santana at school or at work, would they have gotten along? She didn't think so.

It didn't help that Santana seemed to find all the right ways to fall asleep, always so soft and gentle looking. Always making Brittany feel like the creep for watching her.

So Brittany was upset. She didn't know why, not yet, anyway. Between watching Santana stir in her sleep and making sure moving her own legs didn't wake the latina, Brittany hadn't found the time to think about the night before. Not until now. She liked to think of everything as a simple, explainable phenomenon. If she mentally compartmentalized enough, she could easily make sense of things. It was the only way to stay sane. And right now was a time for Brittany to _really _think.

She lied on her bed, counting the gray dots on the ceiling, her thumb finding her way to her teeth.

Getting drunk and kissing girls wasn't new for Brittany. She knew that much had to be true for Santana as well. She never found out the name of the pixie-haired girl from the other night, but trying to think of that made her think of the countless girls before that one. She wasn't sure if Santana did it as much with men the way _she_ did back in the day. Not as far as she could tell, and not that it mattered. Did she want to have sex with Santana? Probably not. She had spent the last few months getting to know the brunette. She knew that sleeping with Santana would mean losing the chance to get to know her even more, that much was clear. And quite simply, she didn't want that.

It had been a couple of years since she'd jumped into streaming, shortly after she had quit the corporate life. Some time since her glory days at MIT, some time since she's had the chance to meet people and make friends. And not the online kind.

She liked having friends. She didn't like a lot of people, so it wasn't always easy to be friends with the few that she _did_ like. People had a way of turning Brittany off. When people spoke to her, they either wanted something or called her stupid. Not that Brittany was stupid. It took her a long time to learn that, and she vowed never to unlearn it. She had a way of perceiving things, and it made her reach conclusions faster than the average person. It made her say things sometimes that may sound out of the blue to other people because, well, Brittany simply got there before them. And that made it stupid to other people.

Her viewers on her streams were simple. They watched her because they liked watching her play games. Santana spoke to her because she needed a roommate, because she needed help with rent, and that much was clear. It was always one of the two. Granted, it wasn't like Brittany wasn't the one who hit the brunette up online.

But Santana never called her stupid, even before she knew about MIT. And that was a huge plus. She didn't know exactly why Santana never did it. The girl looked like the type not to care about offending those around her, but in spite of all the stupid things Brittany's done or said in the past months, she had never heard the latina say it. Not to her, anyway.

Was that what drew her in?

This was getting frustrating. Brittany knew she was upset because she didn't think Santana would do to her what she's basically done to the girls that came before her. She was doing so well about everything else up until this point. Brittany knew it was very likely to happen, but hoped against it, and it happened anyway. She didn't realize how much it would bother her, having Santana shirk her off like that. She didn't know it could feel so wrong to be right.

She couldn't put a finger on it. Did she like Santana? Enough to live with her, she supposed. Enough to spend time with her, watch movies with her, get drunk with her. Brittany hated this. Santana was proving to be a difficult subject. Did Santana like _her_? She couldn't figure her out. Most people made their intentions clear and easy. They fell easily into the table of categories in Brittany's head. But what about Santana Lopez? Santana was a sweetheart who got her a birthday cake, who stayed with her until she woke up the other day, and then she was the jerk who made her leave after they had just fallen asleep making out. Santana was just confusing.


	12. TWELVE

"Brittany," Santana tried.

She had spent all morning cleaning up the mess in the living room. The mess they had been too busy making out over to tidy. Santana hated that she couldn't blame the alcohol about what happened. She knew how parties worked, knew where spin-the-bottles led most times. She knew she was the one who asked the blonde to kiss her. She was the one who asked to take it to her room. And she was also the bitch who sent Brittany right out.

But what was she supposed to have done? Kissing Brittany was already a mistake, she knew it the moment she had woken up to the blonde smiling at her, the two of them lying in _her_ bed. If she had tried to talk about it, about the kiss, what would have happened then?

She felt stupid. She felt childishly scared. What if she had tried to talk about it and Brittany was the one who shrugged her off? Santana knew she liked the blonde. She knew that kissing the blonde made her feel good. She knew that her friends would have given her a goddamn award if they knew the level of self-control she practiced trying not to sleep with Brittany last night. If she wasn't so busy feeling shitty about the kiss and the wake up, she would have had the time to think and admit that to herself. But what then? What if Brittany didn't like her? How was she supposed to continue to live with the blonde then?

There was nothing to it. Santana liked mess because it was always there whenever she would need to destress and clean up. It was her top secret, guilty pleasure. Cleaning. It kept her mind off things, and right now it was doing its job of keeping Santana from thinking about the damn kiss and the damn blonde.

If Brittany hadn't walked out onto the living room then, Santana would have had the time to think things out. Instead, she panicked. She wanted to be able to talk to the blonde like they would every other morning when Brittany would be off stream and Santana would be off her one night stand from the night before. Except this time it wasn't just some girl she had shooed away, it was Brittany.

Brittany was wearing her headphones, and not on her collar like she usually would when she got up to get food mid-stream. Santana could hear loud but muffled gunshots and explosions leaking from the headphones clamped tight on the blonde's ears.

"Brittany," Santana tried again. She had the empty cake box in her hands, and the blonde was standing in the way of her and the trash can.

"Yeah?" Brittany finally said. She turned around and stepped aside so Santana could squish the creamed box in the trash. "Sorry, I'm in-game, trying to listen," she added in a loud whisper, tapping the side of her headphones.

"I just, um, wanted to say sorry," Santana began, washing cream off her hands. The sound of water pouring against the metal kitchen sink came at the same time as another explosion from Brittany's headphones.

"Yeah," the blonde simply nodded, opening the refrigerator. Santana couldn't help but notice the gap in the bottom shelf where she used to have her stash. She had decided, aside from having time away from Brittany, restocking that shelf was a necessary reason for her to come in to work today. "For what?" Brittany asked when she didn't continue.

"For being a… drunken mess, last night," Santana decided.

Brittany took out a tub of ice cream from the freezer and turned to look at Santana. There was a long moment, quiet, where the blonde seemed to be staring into her eyes. Waiting, searching. "Okay," Brittany shrugged. She set out back to her room after picking out a spoon from a drawer, her steps quicker as she neared her door. "Someone's trying to 'nade me," she announced, before shutting the door behind her.

Santana had never hated herself more. She wanted to stop Brittany, stop the blonde from walking away, because what was going to happen after this? How were they going to recover from this? Instead, she stood rooted to the spot, her fists clenched.

**... **

April wasn't answering her phone, she rarely did anyway. It was why Santana always preferred texting her boss when she needed anything. But right now, she needed the older woman to talk to. She needed something, someone, to keep her off the raven-haired girl with thick eyeliner sitting across her at the bar right now. She had told her her name five minutes ago, something like Winnie or Whitney, which really made Santana silently curse to herself because _why did it have to sound so close to Brittany_?

Santana's goal that night was simple. She needed time away from the apartment, where Brittany was. She needed to be where she felt truly comfortable. Somewhere that was dimly lit, and somewhere that reeked of booze and cigarettes and men's piss instead of Brittany or her hot chocolate or whatever shampoo the blonde used that smelled like fruits or flowers or _something_. Santana needed to be back in her element, away from the distractions.

But she also knew she wasn't supposed to be at the bar. She knew she didn't want to come home drunk again and have to face Brittany. Not that there was much to expect there. It was clear Brittany didn't want to talk about it. On one hand, Santana knew she should've made the decision to want to talk about it _before_ she kicked the girl out of her room. Maybe then Brittany would've been more in the mood. But she needed time to process it, didn't she? She needed that brief moment alone to kick herself in the face over what she let happen.

"Hey," the raven-haired girl had shifted yet again from her seat at one end of the bar to the one closest to Santana. "You sure you work here?"

"What?" Santana snapped. It was the third time the girl spoke to her tonight.

"What's a girl gotta do to get a couple drinks her way around here?" Winnie/Whitney was smiling. "For a bartender, you're not exactly tending to the bar."

"Look," Santana said, finally giving in to look at the girl. Ever since Brittany came into her life, she never realized how much she never paid attention to the color of people's eyes. Winnie/Whitney's were green. "What do you want here? I'm gonna give you your drink, then you're gonna offer _me _a drink on you, you and I are going to chat, you're going to touch my arm, I'll smile and say something about your face or your outfit, you're going to stay here until people are too passed out or vomity from all the drinking and dancing and fucking in the dirty restrooms. Then when the dude who's supposed to take the shift after mine comes in half an hour late and I get to go home, you're going to ask me where a girl like me lives, and then you're gonna tell me you'd like the pleasure of finding that out, and then, we can have the best sex of our lives at my place. Is that it?"

Santana hadn't been provoked in _days_. Unsurprisingly, that was due to Brittany too. The blonde was like a goddamn scented candle. Smelling so good. Never made her angry. Always bringing her to sleep. And so when Santana realized this Winnie/Whitney woman wasn't gonna leave her alone, and that her slurred voice was going to keep interrupting her damn thoughts, Santana had to play the usual dick card. She rarely used it, but it came in handy most times.

But why was Winnie/Whitney laughing like that? Why didn't the dick card have the usual effect of making the other girl leave or cry or scream at her?

"I'm sorry," Winnie/Whitney shook her head, still laughing. "All of that sounds… nice. Endearing, really. But I was thinking more along the lines of… skipping all that middle stuff and jumping into the best sex of our lives. How about that?"


	13. THIRTEEN

**A/N: thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed! this chapter's kinda long compared to the rest. hope you're enjoying the story so far. **

* * *

Brittany was exhausted. She had spent more than twelve hours grinding her stats all day, effectively upping her kills to death ratio at an alarming rate. She had checked her Twitter every couple hours or so too, saw her followers asking if she was okay, if she had gotten her rest, if she was going to be streaming anytime today.

She wanted to, although she didn't have to. She usually took longer breaks after her 24 hours streams, like a sabbatical from all the video game colors and sounds and violence, just to kind of recollect herself. But she also needed the distraction right now. If she didn't have her games to focus on, her mind was going to reel backwards into insanity, and she didn't want that. She also didn't want to start streaming in her current state of mind. Streaming was her break from real life, it always helped her with the compartmentalizing. It helped shelve her thoughts for some five to six hours before she would have to eat and think again.

But to stream and still have her thoughts about Santana clouding her mind would just be bad for everyone. She wouldn't be able to interact properly with her chat, or even focus on getting the kills she needed in her game. And if she gamed bad, it would be letting her viewers down, and then whose waste of time would that be?

The solution was to simply play, all day, without the usual audience. She needed this. She needed the time alone, to think, and unthink. She had felt shitty about her last interaction with Santana. She didn't mean to brush her off like that, but what else was she supposed to do? It was obvious the kiss meant nothing to the latina, and they were just being drunk idiots. How many college parties had Brittany attended, drunken kisses she had experienced, for her not to have known better?

It was five in the morning, and Brittany needed her snack before the next round started. _The brains don't work if you don't feed 'em_. She figured Santana should be home from work by now, and would be passed out in her room, meaning it was safe for her to come out. She put down her headphones on the table and whispered into her mic to her teammates, "Five minutes, then let's go."

She didn't know how long she could keep it up, avoiding the brunette like this. All she knew was that she didn't want to look at her for a while. Not because she was angry, particularly, but because she was scared of what she might end up saying.

She had had the time all day to think about what happened, and she still couldn't fall onto a reasonable conclusion. Santana was either really clueless, or really mean. The worst thing was, Brittany was curious enough to find out. For whatever reason, she genuinely wanted to know.

And the more she thought about it, the more frustrated she felt. She didn't like this. Things were usually so simple, and now they aren't. Childishly, secretly, she hoped the whole thing would just die down and fade out. Like the two of them would wake up one morning and just mutually decide it wasn't worth pursuing. Ideally, she wanted the chance to talk to Santana, to ask her about the things that were bludgeoning her brains all day.

As she was thinking all this, walking sleepily towards the kitchen, she heard the door open behind her.

"Santana?" she asked, rubbing her eyes as she turned around. Almost instantly, she wished she hadn't said anything.

It wasn't Santana. It was some girl.

She hated herself, then and there. It was five in the morning. If there were signs of life coming out from Santana's room at five in the morning, it was never going to be Santana herself. It would be some girl. There was always going to be some girl, she should've known that. To Santana, she was just another of those girls. Stupid stupid stupid.

The girl had black hair, tied in a messy ponytail. She was in the middle of putting on her jacket when Brittany called out. She looked up then, her eyes meeting Brittany's. "You live here?" she asked, a confused smile on her face. She looked back into the room, as if to confirm with Santana, but of course there was no one to answer. It was five in the morning. Santana only woke when the sun was up and the girls were gone—Brittany knew that much.

"No, I just like coming in people's apartments at five in the morning," Brittany deadpanned.

The black-haired girl chuckled, closing the door behind her. "Should I be worried?" She had taken a careful step towards the blonde. Instinctively, Brittany had stepped back almost at the same time. She didn't want to be too close to this girl. She smelled like beer, and Brittany didn't want to see the smudged lipstick at the corner of her lips, or that dark purple hickey on the side of her neck. All that would do would remind her of the latina currently asleep in her room.

"I do live here, so no need to call the cops," Brittany let up, keeping her eyes fixed on the girl. "And in case you were too drunk to notice when you came in, the door's that way," she jerked her thumb towards the door. It was enough interaction.

"I meant," Winnie/Whitney clarified, her arms crossed, a couple more definite steps towards the blonde. "Are you a girlfriend?"

Brittany couldn't hold in her smile. "For some reason, I doubt you'd be bothered either way," there was the slightest squint in her blue eyes, a look she didn't like sporting. She didn't like this girl, and it had been awhile since the last time Brittany had to physically show dislike towards a person. She didn't know why, but this one seemed to be Exhibit A of the girls Santana once warned her about—the entitled ones, the ones who thought they were hot shit for getting to sleep with Santana Lopez. "You do have to leave, though," she added.

There was a winning smirk on the girl's face. Brittany never liked violence, not when it's not in-game, anyway, but she thought she could easily swing and hit this girl in the face. Her arms were long enough and the girl was smaller enough for her to manage that. She really could. She didn't know why. Why was the girl so pleased with herself?

"Brittany, right? You're her," the girl checked. She was directly in front of her by now, the smell of beer and liquor suffocating the blonde. When she spoke again, her voice was a slow, menacing whisper, taunting, mocking. "She called me that, you know? Right before she put her tongue in—"

"Did you not hear her the first time?" Santana's voice was loud in the almost silent living room.

Both girls whirled around to see the latina, disheveled, but awake, leaning on her door frame, wearing nothing but a gray t-shirt and her underwear. She wasn't looking at Brittany. She was staring down the black-haired girl, and Brittany could almost make out an unfamiliar glint in her brown eyes. When she walked towards them, her dark hair swayed behind her.

"The door," Santana spoke through gritted teeth. "Is that way. Leave."

Winnie/Whitney looked unbothered. Her smirk had gone when she heard Santana moments before, but she looked persistently calm. "Funny, that wasn't what you said in bed," she teased.

Brittany couldn't believe anyone could be so sickeningly annoying. She still didn't know the girl's name, but she had decided minutes ago she didn't care. She thought that if she saw the girl moving to touch Santana, she would really swing, damn the consequences. She didn't know what about her ticked her off so much. All she knew was that Santana wasn't into her, and that felt empowering, almost. Like Santana was on her side.

"Funny—you talk so much better than you kiss," Santana smiled coldly, her brows arched in faux sympathy. Her voice was low, sultry and almost devilish. Brittany had never heard her roommate like that. It didn't, couldn't, prepare Brittany for what was to come. But she watched, anyway. This was a side of Santana she had never seen, and she was intrigued. "Listen, I fucked you because I thought it would shut you up and then you'll finally leave me alone," the latina began. "Also, I wasn't even drunk when I called you the wrong name—imagine being so irrelevant and forgettable. No—wait, actually, imagine walking around with a cocky smile like that knowing you couldn't make me come even after I'd gotten your name right. No, really, it's the sex of the year! I mean—I—I agree, I guess you did have the best sex of your life tonight, right? You should tell me about it, open your big ass mouth right now and tell me about it, because I have no idea, all I did was fake an orgasm to make it stop."

The door slammed shut before Santana had even finished her last sentence. It made her have to yell that last bit. Not that Brittany could make out the punctuations in that monologue. The latina had basically chased the girl all the way to the door as her pitch continued to rise, the words coming out of her like a machine gun round. Brittany had to sing a loud mental tune to herself halfway through the rant to block the images in her mind, and she knew this whole situation had royally messed up her plan of staying away from the brunette for awhile. But she had to admit, that was impressive.

She just wished Santana had spared her a look, or a glance, during the entire deal. She couldn't help but think the brunette was intentionally avoiding looking her way. Like she was some disease. Something stung somewhere inside her, realizing it was hurting her just thinking that.

"Don't let them talk to you like that," Santana snapped as she clicked the lock at the door. She seemed exasperated, almost frustrated, as she marched past the blonde and back towards her room.

"Santana, wait," Brittany moved just in time for her fingertips to graze the latina's back. The latter spun around, her arms still crossed. "I think we should talk."

"Brittany, it's five in the morning," Santana shook her head, her eyes avoiding the blonde's.

"She said—you said—my—"

Santana sighed visibly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, I didn't mean to wake so early, and you weren't doing a very good job at kicking the bitch out, so I came out to help you. My head hurts, and I'm still angry about the bitch, I just—don't want to say things I don't mean. Okay? I don't care about her, but I can't do that to you. We _live_ together, and you didn't do anything to piss me off. Can we talk in a couple of hours—please?"

Brittany's heart felt like it had sunk. Not that she knew what that felt like. She just realized how long it had been since she'd heard the brunette speak. This wasn't an ideal situation, but she was thankful anyway that Santana wasn't completely avoiding her the way she had initially planned to avoid Santana. "Yeah—okay," Brittany finally gave in. She nodded to herself as she made her way back towards her own room. She didn't think all the thinking during the day was going to be so easily shot down by Santana's sleepiness, but she also didn't want the brunette to snap at her the way she did just minutes ago.

For a moment, the two lingered, hands on their respective doorknobs. They weren't looking at each other. The thoughts were too much, for the both of them. Too many words were said earlier, words that weren't meant for either of them. It was the first time since her birthday night that the living room had that much noise, and yet, why did things feel so different?

Brittany let out a sigh. She had decided, probably even before Santana had spoken to her that morning. She was going to confront the latina, in a couple of hours. It was the only way to straighten things out. It was the only way to understand her thoughts, and maybe have everything back to the way they were.


	14. FOURTEEN

There was a knock on her door. Brittany froze for a second before realizing who it was. She led her character onscreen to an isolated tunnel-like zone, where the red-haired woman, her character, kept still, crouching in the shadows as Brittany took off her headphones.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated, as she watched her character get sniped from across the map, her hand just barely off the mouse. "Sorry, you guys, I gotta do something," Brittany spoke into her mic, to her teammates who were running across her screen, looking for the guy that had killed her.

"Are you live?" Santana asked quietly as Brittany stood from her chair. The latina was standing halfway behind her door.

Brittany had completely forgotten to lock it. She fell back to her seat, her hand back on her mouse. "No, just playing," she replied, clicking to spectate her teammates who were still alive.

"Right," Santana nodded. She took a full step inside Brittany's room. To think that months ago, before Brittany, this was an empty, dusty mess. Brittany seemed to have more stuff in her room than she did. "You—um—wanted to talk," she finally said.

"I did," Brittany agreed, getting up again. This was happening. There was no turning back now. "I just—wanted to thank you, for this morning."

"I didn't like her talking to you like that, it's not—" Santana shrugged, her lips moved, seemingly looking for the words to say. "You didn't do anything. She doesn't know you."

"I also wanted to say I'm sorry," Brittany added, quickly, before she changed her mind. "For what I said yesterday. About you being selfish. I really don't know—where that came from."

Santana leaned back onto the door, biting her lip. Brittany could still make out the little cut, but looked away immediately. The conversation was difficult enough for her to have without having to stare at Santana's lips. "You were right, y'know," Santana finally said. "It was selfish of me to kiss you—"

"I liked it," Brittany blurted out. The words had shot out of her mouth before she had the chance to think about how she was supposed to word it. Not that there were a lot of options to choose from.

Santana's eyes shut close for a long second before they met, briefly, with Brittany's, and tore away to a corner of the room. Brittany felt her heart sink. She couldn't figure out what look that was, but it was all out in the open now. _Here we go._

"I liked kissing you, Santana."

"Brittany—"

"I know, I know," Brittany explained, her head shaking. She had crossed her arms, a little gesture of self-preservation. "I shouldn't. And I know you have all those other girls. Like you said, we were just—_drunk_."

"I shouldn't have asked you to kiss me," was all Santana could say.

Brittany looked down at her hands. There was a bit of skin at the side of her thumb, near her nail, the bit of skin she liked to pick on or nibble at when she was thinking.

"I'm sorry," Santana offered. She straightened up, her back leaving the door, and took a slow step towards the blonde.

"I just want to get to talk to you, like I used to," Brittany admitted. And it was true. Maybe she hadn't completely figured out everything, but she knew that much to be true. "Ever since we kissed, I wanted to avoid you, because seeing you just keeps reminding me of it. I know you don't want to get into it, or whatever. And it's hard, because I'm your roommate, and I thought we were becoming friends."

"Listen, we don't have to make a big deal out of this. So you liked the kiss," Santana assured her. Her hand was on the blonde's elbow now. "People like kissing. It's okay."

There was a sick feeling in Brittany's stomach. She didn't know what it was. It felt like back in her childhood days when she would practice her dance moves right after eating, and then her parents would tell her she had an indigestion, that she had to take breaks, take rests. It was hard to breathe too, even though she tried her best to remain still, fully aware of Santana's hand on her arm.

"Santana," Brittany finally spoke. "About that girl—"

"She was a bitch, and you'll never see her again. I promise," Santana gave her a soft smile.

"No," Brittany was shaking her head slowly, her head suddenly dizzy. "No—I meant—why did she tell me that? That you said my name when you two—you know?"

…

"Do you like me, Santana?" Brittany sounded exasperated, as if this was a question she'd asked numerous times before. Except this time, for once, it was out loud.

The cup of coffee felt heavy in Santana's hands as she lowered it onto the table, fingers shaking. Was she still cold, or just terrified by the very question she'd been dreading?

She had stormed out when Brittany asked her about that other girl. About why she had said her name. She didn't do it because she didn't want to answer it. She didn't even _know_ the answer. That was why all she could come up with was a strangled noise and a half-meant apology as she marched out of the apartment with Brittany half-chasing after her. _Damn her long legs. _

She was out on the streets shrugging off an irritating salesman when the blonde caught up to her and told her she was going to move out if they couldn't talk about things. That she couldn't see herself being roommates or friends with someone who couldn't be honest with her.

Next thing she knew, they were walking back to their apartment building, Brittany's eyes fixed on her as the silence in the elevator followed them through the hallways and back through their door. It was the last thing she wanted. Brittany moving out. She had to be honest, in that brief few seconds before giving in and walking back with the blonde to the apartment. She had to make that call. She didn't want her to leave, or move out. She didn't know what everything else meant, her thoughts, her... feelings. She only knew she didn't want Brittany out of her life.

It was why she gave in to having the talk in the first place. She knew it was one of the things that had to be done, to, well, put things back where they belonged. If she could get past the talk, no matter how, then maybe things would be back to normal with the blonde. They would be able to go back to being roommates and friends, and whatever. They could watch movies on her laptop again.

But she couldn't help but dread the incriminating silence. Like she was getting more than she'd bargained for. If she had known what the blonde was thinking of asking, she would have _ran_.

"Because _I_ like _you_," Brittany nudged. She was halfway through the doorway into her room now, her hand tight on the doorknob, the other on her hip. "And every time I tried, wanted, to tell you, I have to wake up to a half naked girl creeping out of your room at five in the morning, looking for her shoes or whatever. It just… sucks, okay?" A little shrug punctuated her sentence, and there was a sad little smile on her long face.

"Britt, I'm sorry," Santana began, her head shaking. _How did we get here?_ She never liked the cold, but this rising warmth in her neck and face felt worse for some reason. "I—I didn't know."

Piercing blue eyes, lips tightened. The door swayed under her loosened grip on the knob. "So, do you?"

"It's not that simple, Brittany." But who was she kidding? It was never simple with her, and she knew that. And she wished the blonde knew that, too. "I can't just give you an answer like it's no big deal."

"It's a yes or no question."

Always Miss Matter-of-Fact.

"I thought we were gonna talk about this," Brittany muttered softly. "I've said everything I've wanted to say. I know we're not that close, but I thought you could at least return the favor."

Santana found her face buried in her hands. This was getting too much and too fast. Her head was swimming, the noise of the city outside their singular window muffled in her ears. There was a tingling something creeping up her fingertips, and she just couldn't bring herself to look back up at Brittany. Maybe it _was_ fear. She didn't know what else there was to say, but she knew opening her mouth right now would be an outright danger to the situation. She was afraid the answer would blurt out, traitorous and reckless, loud and irreversible, and what then? How was anything going to go back to normal if she were to let that happen? What if Brittany moved out?

The sinking silence felt like a whole hour. In her bubble, Santana could only hear and feel her breathing against the palms of her hands, shaky and rattled.

She only lifted her head when the sound of Brittany's door shutting close finally interrupted her panicked thoughts. The cup of coffee sat across from her, smoke rising from the blackness, taunting and teasing in goddamn slow motion.

Then and there, she knew she'd fucked up.


	15. FIFTEEN

This was never supposed to happen. Santana never liked going into other girls' rooms. They were too foreign, and at times, felt like the space held too much power that wasn't hers, for her liking. It was another unwritten rule she'd decided to live by. Girls in her own room were okay, manageable as long as they were riddable by sun up. But Santana in other girls' rooms were a no-no. It was easier that way, and most girls never minded, anyway. And yet, here she was, three nights since Brittany's ultimatum-like question, and three nights since she was last asleep in her own room. She had taken a quick shower and left the moment Brittany was back in her room. She hadn't come back since. Instead, she crashed at Puckerman's shitty roach-infested apartment during the day, took on his shifts at the bar, and spent the nights in a girl's room. And she hated herself for it. It had been three nights. And three nights meant three different girls.

Tonight was a redhead who was part of a band, or something. They had met on their way out of the bar, and so Santana wasn't technically _drunk _drunk. The redhead was perfect. Megan, Jen, Rach? Something along those lines. She had laughed at the right little jokes, and touched Santana lightly just enough on the right spots along her arm, and Santana was still upset and stressed and terrified enough about the whole Brittany situation that the only solution seemed to present itself matter-of-factly enough.

She knew what she should have said, there and then. She knew it was as easy as everything else she had done in the past. She only had to say it, that she _liked_ Brittany, that she liked _kissing_ Brittany, that she liked spending time with the blonde, getting to know her. If she had said all that, _any_ of that, then she wouldn't be here right now. But where would that have led her? What was she supposed to do, start a relationship? With Brittany? With her roommate? It didn't make sense.

She shuddered at the thought.

When Megan or Jen or Rach had asked her if she wanted to walk her home because the place wasn't too far off, Santana said yes almost immediately. It was easier than the alternative, which was to come home and face Brittany. And so they went.

And here she was, in the bedroom of a girl whose name she can't seem to put a pin on, scrambling for her ripped jeans in the dark because her mother (_of all the possible people, honestly_) had called in the dim hours of the dawn, pleading and demanding for Santana to 'please come home' because there had been an emergency, or something.

Santana was irritated mostly for two reasons: She hadn't come home in a while, had no reason to, and, well, she had secretly, painfully hoped it had been Brittany who called. Until she realized they never really exchanged numbers because, duh, their doors were just next to each other's. And then she got even more irritated because it drove home the fact that Brittany couldn't look for her even if she wanted her to, and so this three-day stint was horrendously pointless, even if Santana couldn't explain what the point she wanted made was in the first place.

"Hey, where are you going?" a slurred and sleepy voice asked from the pile of blankets on the bed.

Santana huffed, tugging on her jeans, her hips wiggling to find the right angle. _This_ was why she never liked ending a night out in someone else's room. The jeans finally slid up, and Santana continued towards the door. "Home," she called back, slipping on her blazer, effortless.

"Did I do something—" the pile of blankets were moving, rising. Santana was halfway out the door, light from the living room spilling into the dark room.

"No," she interrupted. "You didn't. Good night."

…

Brittany put her hand to her mouth as she failed once again to suppress her yawn. She shot her webcam an apologetic look and a smile. "I'm sorry, you guys, I haven't exactly slept in the last couple of days," she said, her hands moving rapidly, guiding her character slowly through a rundown building.

_pls sleep lol_

_oNe laSt gAmE! lmfao jk pls take care of yourself_

_if i sent you a thousand dollars would you pls sleep? lol_

_i love you brritnay pls marryy me _

_can u say my name plese_

Brittany shook her head as her eyes scoured the messages popping up on her chat. She had started up the stream almost as soon as she had heard the latina leave the other day. It was really the only thing left to do. She needed the company of people, needed someone to talk to, and she didn't really know anyone in the city, did she? Her stream was the only place she could go.

She didn't want to admit this to herself, but she kept her game audio turned down low half-expecting to hear Santana stumbling home drunk once again, a random girl stitched to her hip or her neck or her lips. She didn't want to admit it, but even though the mere thought rattled her enough, she thought it was better to see Santana home with some girl than not having seen her at all.

She had gone into instant panic when the brunette almost ran out on her that morning. When she was asking her about that girl. She didn't want Santana to leave, not when they weren't done talking. Not when she finally had the guts to say those things out loud. And so there was nothing to it. Her mind reeled when she chased Santana down the lobby. She was only an elevator away, and she had reached the lobby just as Santana was on her way out.

Brittany knew there was no turning back the moment she successfully put Santana back in their apartment. Everything came out in a blurt then. She was angry, maybe a little disappointed, that she couldn't get the answers she so longed to hear. She wanted Santana to spill, too. She wanted to know what the latina was thinking.

How long had it been? Was it really a couple of days? She had lost track of time. She stopped her streams just long enough to nap and shower and eat, and then she was back at it. She didn't know it was something she was even capable of doing. She was starting to feel like a machine. It hadn't been a week since her birthday stream. Her viewers were constantly telling her to take a break, and she kept shrugging them off. She needed to up her stats, she needed to get more kills, she needed the interactions with her viewers, she needed this.

Was Santana okay?

Where was she?

She couldn't help but wonder. Every few hours, when her game lulled long enough to go silent, her mind reeled back to that question. She felt guilty. This was her dilemma all over again—she had no right to bludgeon the latina with questions like that. She had driven her away, like she did most people. Not everyone saw things the way she did, she knew. Should have known. She could have pretended she was okay with their talk. She could have let things be.

But she couldn't. Not after she admitted it to herself. She _liked_ Santana. There was nothing to it. She liked talking with her, being with her, and she missed having her around. She missed the loud cackle Santana would do whenever she told her things from her stream or her past or the last time she went out for groceries. Hell, she even missed the apartment smelling like beer. Like Santana.

_brittany has glitched once again someone send help lmao_

_mods is stream lagging or is she not moving? im confused lol_

_someone donate so she snaps outof it pls lol_

_she looks so tired she should probbaly go sleep tbh_

Brittany shook her head. This was why it was a bad idea to stream in her current mindset, she knew. "I'm fine, you guys," she finally spoke, rubbing her eyes. "I think I'll probably end the stream in a bit, though."

She wanted to see Santana again. Wanted to tell the latina it was okay. Wanted to say she was being stupid about everything. Wanted to lie and pretend it was just a stupid crush. Or attraction. Or whatever. Wanted everything to go back to the way they were.

Brittany sighed as her character went flying against the wall, her thoughts so loud she didn't hear the grenade flying through the window, blowing her up. "Well, that was a shit round anyway. Yeah, I'm gonna sleep, chat. Sorry I've been out of it so much. I'll be back tomorrow."

She gave her webcam one last wave before shutting down the stream. She looked at herself in her stream monitor, her eyes smaller than they should be, her hair a mess without the headphones keeping it in place. They were right, she needed the rest. She needed to sleep, to not think for a minute. Plus, maybe Santana would be back when she woke up. She chewed at the corner of her thumb unconsciously, wishing hard for that to be true.


	16. SIXTEEN

**A/N: hi, you! thanks for still reading, if you've reached this far. we've still got a long way to go, and this bit's longer than most again, but i hope you're still enjoying! part of the subject matter in this chapter may be triggering to some, but i tried my best not to let it take away from the story too much. it was just something i felt had to be done to add to a certain character.**

* * *

Santana couldn't quite figure out why she couldn't breathe. Something in her chest _hurt_. And it felt like the physical kind, too. None of that broken hearted bullshit. The Uber driver kept stealing glances at the rear view mirror, his watery eyes searching for her face at the back, and for once, she couldn't blame the poor guy. She was technically hyperventilating in the backseat, and she could see how that was distracting, or downright disturbing.

She needed to get home. She needed to be back in her space, as soon as possible, Brittany or not.

Outside, the night sky seemed black and bleak, almost artificial. Like these weren't the streets Santana could navigate expertly, drunk or sober. Like she was seeing it all for the first time, and little things, details, were changed here and there. She could hear the _drip-drop_ of the rain outside, gently hammering on metal. Therapeutic, almost, except Santana was in all the wrong mindsets for this.

The car slowed to a stop in front of their building, and Santana barely looked at the driver as she mumbled her thanks. The walk from the car, through the little lobby, into the elevator, and onto the hallway leading to her door, felt simulated. Like it wasn't really happening. And Santana's head was pounding, too loud, too painful, for her to even think of what she would say to Brittany. Maybe it was the rain, or her lack of an umbrella. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, too. Puckerman's apartment was no place for a woman like her, and so were the apartments of the girls she had spent the past three nights with.

But it didn't matter. She was here, now. Home.

She drew out her keys, her fingers shaking from the cold. Her hands fumbled, trying to get the key in the hole, metal scratching against metal, until the door swung wide open before her.

…

Brittany stood in front of Santana, the two separated only by the door frame, her long blonde hair down and frazzled looking, a long coat slung carelessly over her cotton blue PJs. She gulped, taking in the sight of the reason she'd been losing sleep the past three days, ready to take her swing.

She had rehearsed it, in a silly, child's play kind of way, the past several hours. She had regretted turning off her stream, because the entire apartment seemed to sink down on her immediately, the silence almost deafening. It forced her to wonder about Santana's whereabouts, and it made her think of how she wanted to behave when Santana would come back.

Except now all of that was tossed out the window, the moment her eyes landed on the girl she'd spent the past few days thinking so much about.

Santana was soaked, dark brown hair clinging to the sides of her face, the back of her neck, and she was shaking. Brittany's fist loosened by her side. For some reason, Santana looked _tiny_ in that moment.

"Santana, I've—" Brittany began, her voice soft, except she never finished.

The smaller girl had lunged herself, full force, into her arms. They were lucky Brittany wasn't as sleepy as she thought, or they would have landed flat on the floor. Brittany felt Santana's cold face trembling against the side of her neck, her warm breath coming out erratically. She felt her shaking, trembling, like she'd never seen before. Instinctively, protectively, Brittany put her own arms around the girl, rubbing her back, gentle shushes and all, waiting for her to stop shaking, to say something, to explain. Santana clung on, and she was usually the one to let go first. That was how Brittany knew: something was wrong.

"Let's get you out of these clothes, you're all wet," Brittany finally mumbled against the top of Santana's head. She pushed her back, just enough, gentle as possible, making sure her arm stayed draped around her waist. She traced her index finger down the brunette's side of the face, clearing wet strands of hair out of her face so she could see it that much better. "Come on."

Santana considered it, probably, for a moment. Only a moment. What she was going to do held consequences she wasn't sure she could deal with. But the weight was crushing her ten times over now. Who else did she have right now, who else but sweet Britt?

And then, she gave in. There was no time. Any longer and she felt she could go mad. Brittany was right through and through. Santana was selfish, and she couldn't deny it now, and she couldn't hold herself back now because if she thought if she waited a second more she might really lose herself. So she reached out for the back of the blonde's neck, pulling the taller girl in to meet her trembling lips, and then she was letting herself loose.

…

Brittany didn't try to push her away, and Santana was thankful. It was obvious Santana wasn't thinking, and this was going straight as Exhibit A of her making selfish decisions at the risk of fucking over other people, but she needed this right now. She needed Brittany, and she knew she was the one who stayed away for three stupid nights, but she also knew any other girl couldn't, wouldn't do tonight. It has to be Brittany, because, well, she just couldn't stay away, could she?

Santana's lips felt soft against Brittany's, and even though she'd only recently been in this same position, the blonde knew something else was up this time. Santana didn't smell like beer or liquor. Didn't taste like it either. She wasn't drunk. This wasn't about them, right then and there. Brittany couldn't guess, and she didn't want to pull away and ask, because Santana needed her and she could feel it. She let the smaller girl push her up the wall by the door and kissed her back, tongue welcoming Santana's, tasting each other, mouths crushing into each other's, but more synchronized tonight. Santana wasn't drunk, and neither was she. There was no giggling or silly snorting.

She felt her fingers find their way to the back of Santana's head, and she was tugging on her hair, tilting her head back so she could kiss her better, her other hand holding onto her back.

There was a different sort of desperation emanating from the latina, and Brittany knew they were going to have to talk about this sometime. Just not right now. This was different, and whatever Santana was feeling, whatever had caused it, Brittany could sense it getting to her. A pained, stinging sadness. This wasn't Santana being a _horny_ jerk, this was her trying not to break down, or do something worse, and she was doing what she knew best to stop it and keep it at bay, as much as she could. And as much as Brittany hated that she couldn't be more for the girl, as much as she hated herself for putting aside her own feelings in this case, she knew she had to do what she could to help, to be there, for her. For Santana.

"You're okay," Brittany whispered, her breathing hitched, her face red hot. It was all she could do not to let her voice crack, not to sound like she was going to cry. She didn't know why. She didn't know what was causing this sudden wave of emotions. She didn't know where she got the idea, but she felt she needed to be strong, for the both of them. "You're here now. You're okay."

Santana found her legs curled around Brittany's waist. She was being straddle-carried into Brittany's room. She knew because the bed smelled and felt different from her own as the blonde laid her on her back. A brief respite.

Santana needed Brittany's mouth on hers to breathe. It was a matter of fact, at least for the moment. And she knew, she knew it was fucking selfish of her, and she wished she could stop it, and she didn't want to hurt Brittany's feelings because goddammit, she deserved better. So much better. And it was hurting her just thinking about it, hurting her thinking about what could be going through the blonde's pure mind, and suddenly the world was overwhelming.

It felt like a sharp slap to the face when Brittany realized Santana was crying, sobbing, shaking crazy on her bed, holding on to her like the bed was lava.

Why did it hurt so much, she wondered, watching her hurt and break like that? It was inexplicable. Brittany didn't, couldn't _possibly_, understand. She quickly put her arms around Santana, pulling the brunette into her chest, feeling hot breaths and tears against her shirt. All she could do was leave light kisses on the top of her head, and gentle shushes by her ear.

Santana _felt_ tiny. She was surrounded by Brittany, almost literally, the taller girl's legs draped over hers, her arms protective on her back, as if loosening her embrace would cost her. She felt like a child, almost. And so she wasn't surprised when she finally started speaking, words sputtered here and there, punctuated by gasps. She wasn't surprised that she was finally spilling everything, to Brittany.

She told her about the Uber ride to her parents' house uptown, four in the morning, and how her mother told her her _abuela_ was there. Had been there. Had died there earlier in the day because she had been fighting something, some disease, something deadly. It had been years. Years since it started, years since Santana last saw the old woman. She told her how her mother was comforting her, how her _abuela_ had looked for her, waited for her to return her mother's calls or texts. Waited for her, Santana, to come home and see her before she had to go.

She told her about being outed back in high school, against her will, and how word got to her _abuela_, whom she was living with at the time. She told her how she tried to explain, tried to ask for understanding, for love, for her _abuela_. She told her about all the cruel things she heard left her _abuela_'s mouth that night, and how she was made to leave the house. How she'd never looked back since. How nothing mattered since.

And she was crying, still. And Brittany held on to her, her own tears welling in blue eyes, her own breathing shakier than it was a while ago.

Santana told her how small and tiny and weak her _abuela_ looked on the bed. How cold her hand was when Santana dared to touch it. She told her how her mother asked her questions, and how silent she was, because, well, she didn't know anything in that moment. She didn't know if her _abuela_ ever forgave her, if her _abuela_ ever ended up understanding. She didn't know if she'd forgiven her _abuela_, if she would have visited had she known. And then she was running out in the rain because her Uber was there, because she hadn't planned to stay long and so had booked in advance, and because even if she wanted to cancel the ride, she knew she couldn't bear to be in her parents' house with her dead _abuela _lying on a white satin bed.


End file.
